


Eat Up

by ClassyFangirl



Series: Belly Achin' [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Image, Cooking, Food, Frottage, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann takes it upon himself to make sure Newt eats regularly. Other developments occur as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Up

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a warning for brief disordered eating- it's not enough to warrant a place in the tags, and it is more out of distraction than an actual eating disorder, but I feel like I should warn for it anyway, just in case.

It starts when their work is interrupted by Newton’s stomach suddenly growling shockingly loudly.

Hermann stares at him, and Newt at least has the dignity to look slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says, almost sheepish. “I haven’t eaten in a while.”

Hermann almost rolls his eyes and goes back to his calculations, but he pauses and notices that Newt’s button-down is hanging just a bit loosely over his stomach. “How long might ‘a while’ be?” Hermann asks.

“Uh. Probably a day, right?” Newt appears to be deep in thought. “I ate on Monday,” he says confidently. “And today’s Tuesday.”

“Today is Wednesday-” He glances at his watch. Two in the morning already? “ _Thursday,_ Newton. Good God, man, are you sure you haven’t eaten since then?”

Newt frowns deeply. “Well, yeah- but I’ve been _busy!_ I’m, like, _this close_ to finishing sequencing the kaiju’s DNA, I’ve had other stuff on my mind, dude-”

Hermann grabs his cane and stands. “Come,” he snaps. “We’re getting you something to eat _now_.”

“Hermann, c’mon-”

“I _mean it,_ Newton. You will eat something and you will like it.”

Newt begrudgingly follows him to the mess hall, empty at this hour, where Hermann scrounges together an omelette with a few surprisingly fresh eggs and some half-decent cheese, along with a cup of coffee. Newt shakes his head while he cooks, saying, “It’s not that big a _deal,_ Hermann, I miss meals all the time, man!”

But he devours the omelette in next to no time at all. “ _Jesus,_ Hermann, since when are you a, a gourmet chef?”

“I’m not,” Hermann says, allowing himself a hint of a smile. “In fact, I will freely admit that my cooking skills are rather subpar. This simply speaks to how hungry you were.”

There is another urgent gurgle from Newt’s stomach. Newt half smiles, half grimaces at him. Hermann shakes his head. “I’ll make you some toast.”

From then on, Hermann finds himself making certain Newton gets at least two meals a day- preferably three, but he’s been known to skip lunch himself when he’s especially busy. He tries to get him down to the mess hall for more or less healthy meals, but sometimes that is impossible. Some days, they find themselves in the kitchen late at night, Hermann trying to make _something_ , even if it’s a blasted ham sandwich, which Newt always devours voraciously, sighing and complimenting Hermann’s cooking ability (which, admittedly, he has been trying to improve- for himself, of course, and if Newton gets something out of it, well, so be it).

Other days, they simply can’t drag themselves away from their work, and Hermann gives up on trying to feed Newton something healthy. Instead, he stocks up on packages of junk food from stores near the Shatterdome, and on their busy days, he will silently drop a bag of potato chips or a pack of some hideously American pastry (what on earth is _in_ a Twinkie, anyway) onto Newt’s desk.

Once, Newton looked up from his kaiju parts to see a box of Poptarts on his desk. “Dude,” he said. “Did you- did you find me _Poptarts_?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hermann sniffed. “I don’t think there is a single healthy thing about them, but I chose strawberry over chocolate fudge nonetheless.”

Newt peeled off his gloves and held the box reverentially. “Hermann, I am gonna _marry_ you one day,” he said.

Hermann, absurdly, felt a flush rise up the back of his neck. “Yes, well. I hadn’t realized fattening breakfast pastries were the key to your heart.”

“They _absolutely are_ , dude. One hundred percent.”

Hermann _does_ try to feed Newton healthy meals, with fruits and vegetables, but it’s so difficult, these days, to acquire fresh, nutritious food. To his dismay, it’s far easier to get his hands on awful, fattening foods, and Newt is always so _pleased_ to have them.

Newton is gleefully eating Hermann’s latest _pièce de résistance_ , a chocolate chip muffin, when Hermann notices how tight Newt’s shirt is over his stomach. Logically, it should not cause any reaction in him- perhaps a twinge of guilt, for forcing all of this junk food on Newton in the first place -but no surprise, what with the lack of opportunity for exercise, busy as they are.

Instead, it makes Hermann’s mouth go dry, and something inside him seems to do a flip. His face grows hot, and he realizes, horrified, that he is flushed with desire.

Newt glances up at him and sees him staring. “What’s wrong, Hermann?” he asks, his mouth full of muffin. He swallows and grins, striking an exaggerated pose. “See something you like?”

Hermann involuntarily makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Newt’s face fills with concern. “Hey, man, you’re not having a stroke, are you? Because that’d be a _major_ loss, okay, scientifically- and personally, I mean it -so tell me if you’re having a stroke, okay? Or, well, you wouldn’t be able to tell me if you were having a stroke- okay, nod or shake your head and tell me if you’re having a stroke, how ‘bout that?”

Hermann coughs and turns away. “I’m fine, Newton. I am not having a stroke, I promise you.”

“Oh. That’s good.” There is a long, awkward pause. “So is something _else_ wrong, or what?”

“I am _fine,_ Newton. Please allow me to get back to my work.”

“All right, all right. Whatever you say, man.”

For the rest of the day, Hermann tries to avoid looking at Newt whenever possible, and if he _must_ , he avoids looking at his stomach at all costs. But his gaze keeps drifting to the slight pudge, just enough to stretch Newton’s shirt and distract Hermann endlessly. He finds himself wondering if it’s soft, if it’s warm, how it would feel under his hands.

Some time after midnight, Newt sighs loudly and drops his tools to his worktable. “All right, I’m calling it a night,” he says. “I’m getting nowhere tonight. You still working?”

Hermann stares up at his chalkboard. He has gotten so little accomplished all day, distracted as he is. “No,” he says. “I ought to go to bed myself.”

Newt waits for him by the door and they walk together, quiet for once in deference to the late hour. Hermann’s room is closest, and they pause outside.

“Well. Good night, Hermann.”

“Good night, Newton.”

But neither of them moves. Newt ought to keep walking down the hall and Hermann ought to unlock his door and go into his room, but neither of them does. Their silence drags on, filled with tension, until-

“Oh, blast it,” Hermann mutters, and he pulls Newt into a kiss. Newt makes a surprised sound against Hermann’s lips, but he returns the kiss almost instantly, and he pushes for more, his tongue easing Hermann’s mouth open.

They break apart, breathless, red-faced. “Thank _God,_ ” Newt gasps. “I thought- I thought I was gonna have to move first, and then it’d _never_ happen.”

Hermann nods, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning. “Would you, ah- would you like to come in?”

“ _Hell_ yes,” Newt says. “Oh my god, _yes_.”

Hermann fumbles for his key and forces the door open. As soon as they’re both inside and the door is shut, they’re kissing again, trying to make up for the last maybe ten years. Newt hooks his arms around the back of Hermann’s neck, and Hermann, without really meaning to, moves his hands from Newt’s hips to his stomach.

Newt flinches and pulls away from the kiss. “Really? That’s where you’re going, man?”

“What? I- I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I- I apologize, I’ll-”

“No- well, yeah, I just-” Newt looks genuinely embarrassed. “I mean, I’m one hot piece of ass, but that’s not exactly...my most stellar area, man.”

Hermann frowns at Newton. “I won’t touch your stomach if you don’t want me to,” he says. “But I- well.” By God, his face his burning. “I must say I disagree entirely.”

Newt laughs. “Oh, _come on_.” He moves his arms from Hermann’s shoulders and starts to unbutton his own shirt. “Look- look at this, seriously-”

Hermann isn’t exactly surprised to see that Newton’s tattoos extend to his chest, but he is struck by their presence all the same. He has never been fond of their subject matter, but he will grudgingly admit that they are very well done, artistically, and that is true of the chest piece as well. As Newt finishes unbuttoning his shirt, the pudge of his stomach hangs over the top of his skinny jeans. Newton spreads his arms. “This is what you’re getting, dude,” he says. “I’m not gonna pretend this is dream guy material.”

Hermann rests his hands on Newt’s stomach, an expanse of orange and yellow ink, like a sunset. It _is_ soft, and warm, and he drags his thumb across the skin, watching how it goes taut from his touch. He looks into Newt’s eyes, trying to gauge his reaction.

Newt looks...amazed, truly, his pupils blown wide as he watches, looking from Hermann’s face to his hands and back again. “Is this all right?” Hermann asks quietly.

Newt nods, slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, uh- okay. Hey-” He leans forward and starts trying to pull Hermann’s sweater off.

Hermann bats Newt’s hands away. “I’ll do it. You- you finish undressing and lay down on the bed.”

Newt obeys and gets to work immediately, shoving the rest of his shirt off, shedding his shoes and socks quickly, pulling his jeans and boxers off in one clean motion. He’s finished and lying on the bed, fingers tapping nervously on the mattress, before Hermann has taken his own trousers off.

“You’re quite eager,” Hermann says, smiling.

Newt shrugs and adjusts his glasses- he can hardly see without them, and it seems he’d like to see everything that’s going to happen tonight. “I’ve, uh...I’ve kinda wanted this for a long, long time,” he admits. He looks Hermann up and down and grins enormously. “Oh my god, Hermann- you’re a _babe_.”

Hermann lets out a startled laugh. “I should say not.” He finally pulls his pants off and carefully straddles Newt, doing his best to protect his bad leg. “You’re hard already,” he says. “My, my, Newton.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, buddy,” Newt says. “Shit- Hermann, is your leg-”

“It’s fine,” he says. It isn’t, not really- it doesn’t hurt, but it will certainly be stiff in the morning. But Hermann can’t find it in him to care about that at the moment, not with Newt under him like a perfect picture. He leans forward and presses their cocks, slick with precome, together. Newt gasps and grabs at Hermann’s skinny hips. Hermann smiles and places his hands on Newt’s stomach once again. It’s even warmer now, full of heat like the rest of Newton, and Hermann starts to rub Newt’s stomach.

Newt wriggles underneath him and bucks his hips upwards, forcing more friction between their cocks. They fall into an easy rhythm- Hermann massaging circles on Newt’s stomach, Newt rutting their erections together. Every inch of Hermann feels warm and satisfied, and Newt looks so _gorgeous_ beneath him.

When they both eventually come, the release decorates Newt’s belly, obscenely white against the brightly colored ink. “ _Mein Gott,_ Newton,” Hermann breathes. “You’re a work of art.”

He lays down at Newt’s side and drapes an arm across the other man’s chest. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive for feeding me,” Newt says. “You kinky bastard, you wanted to fatten me up to get your rocks off, huh?”

“Newton, I would _never_ -”

Newt laughs. “I’m kidding, geez. I’ve never been a skinny guy like you, never ever. I’m just teasing.” He rolls over and curls up close to Hermann, so there is nearly no space between them. “But you have totally got to get me more Poptarts now. I’ve got blackmail material.”

“ _Newton,_ honestly-”

“I’m _kidding,_ Hermann, kidding! Mostly.”

Hermann rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Newt’s forehead. “You are impossible,” he mutters, his breath tickling Newt’s skin.

“Aw, you love it.”

“...I do.”


End file.
